


The Greatest Gift

by icandrawamoth



Series: Do You Hear the People Sing? verse [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Anxiety, Barricade Day, Breakfast, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Quotations, Reincarnation, Separation Anxiety, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 02:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4083982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many would say that Jehan’s anxieties and insecurities make him less than an easy boyfriend to deal with, but Courfeyrac doesn’t care. He’ll gladly help guide him through his own mind when it means seeing the beautiful, loving, creative person Jehan is underneath. {For Barricade Day 2015, I swear it's vaguely relevant.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Greatest Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the [series page](http://archiveofourown.org/series/268906) for the premise of this verse, or this likely won't make much sense. Addionally, Jehan and Courfeyrac were involved in their past lives, but this fic takes place after the first time Courfeyrac takes Jehan home in this one.
> 
> (Includes discussions of anxiety throughout and brief mentions of therapy and medication)

_"One of the greatest gifts a person can give another is support."_

Courfeyrac gets up in the middle of the night and sneaks off to the bathroom, careful not to wake his bedmate. He’s nearly finished when he hears Jehan call out, “Courfeyrac!?” His voice is trembling, near-panicked, and Courfeyrac is immediately worried. He bounds back to his bedroom to find Jehan sitting up with the lamp turned on, clutching the blankets.

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” he asks in concern, sitting down in front of him on the edge of the bed.

Jehan’s voice shakes as he whispers, “I didn’t know where you were.”

“I was just in the bathroom, nothing to get upset over,” Courfeyrac murmurs, reaching up to gently rest a comforting hand on his knee. “Are you okay?”

Jehan breaks his gaze, flushing deeply. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “I just…I have trouble being alone.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Courfeyrac says gently, stroking his knee. “Is it related to your anxiety? I’m sorry, if I would have known, I’d have said something before I left.”

Jehan shrugs minutely, and Courfeyrac can see him gathering himself before he looks up to meet his eyes again. “Have you heard of the superstition that people’s fears reflect how they died in another life?”

Courfeyrac realizes what he’s about to say before he says it. “At the barricade. You were alone.”

Jehan nods, unable to speak. His eyes have welled up, his chin trembling.

“Oh, Jehan…” Courfeyrac draws him into his arms, and Jehan comes willingly, burrowing into his neck. Courfeyrac tenderly brushes his lips across his hair. “You were so brave.”

“I was so scared,” Jehan whispers, tears plain in his voice. Courfeyrac can feel them on his neck. “I knew, before they shot me. I knew, and I was _so_ scared. I didn’t want to die. I think of it and I’m right back there, like it just happened…” He’s trembling violently now, and Courfeyrac strokes down his back, trying to calm him.

“It’s all right. You were so amazing. You stood strong until the end, you never gave up. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Jehan’s heads bobs a little, a tiny nod. “I thought about you,” he whispers like a confession. “A-as they were leading me out there. I knew what it would do to you.”

A pained noise wrenches itself from Courfeyrac before he can stop it. He remembers all too clearly. How they had all known at that point they were likely to die, but having lost Jehan, he had no desire to live.

“It was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, in either life,” he whispers fiercely.

“Worse than dying?” Jehan murmurs, and Courfeyrac’s response is instantaneous.

“Worse than dying. I knew when I died I would get to see you again. Or at least I wouldn’t have to be without you. And now here we are.” He pulls back gently, cupping Jehan’s face and looking into his eyes. “We’re here, together. That was a lifetime ago.”

“I know,” Jehan says, still shaking. “But it doesn’t change anything – I can’t be alone in a room for more than a few minutes before I start freaking out. I know it’s stupid, but–”

“It’s not. It’s part of who you are, and I love every part of you, Jehan.” At the other man’s startled look, he repeats the words. “I love you. I loved you then, and I love you now, it’s no different. I’ll never leave your side, ever, if that’s what it takes for you to feel comfortable.”

Jehan starts crying again, but Courfeyrac knows it’s no longer because he’s upset at the memories. As he’d explained to him once in that long-ago other life, it’s his reaction to being so overwhelmingly grateful that someone understands his anxieties and accepts him anyway.

Courfeyrac draws him in, kisses him gently. “I love you so much, Jehan. I’m never going to leave you. Now, what do you say we go back to bed?”

Jehan nods wordlessly, still overwhelmed, and Courfeyrac guides them both back under the covers. Jehan huddles in close to him, safe in his arms, and soon they’re both asleep again.

***

When Courfeyrac wakes the next morning, his initial thought is to surprise Jehan with breakfast, but he hasn’t even moved from the bed when last night comes back to him. Instead he stays put, waiting for Jehan. He doesn’t want to wake him up (the look of his face relaxed in sleep, red curls spilling across the pillow is something he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much until this moment), and he’s certainly not going to do anything to cause the distress he’d seen on his face the night before.

It doesn’t take long before Jehan’s eyes flutter open, and he looks up at Courfeyrac, confusion flashing briefly across his face.

“Good morning,” Courfeyrac says brightly, leaning down give him a kiss. “How about breakfast?”

Jehan bites his lip, obviously dreading a conversation now that he’s remembered where he is and what happened, but Courfeyrac does his best to assure him. He backs off the bed, holding out a hand to help Jehan up, gaining a little smile. They both shrug into their pants from the day before and head to the kitchen.

Courfeyrac gets a pot of coffee going and sets Jehan at the table, turning to mix up some pancake batter. They go on in silence for a few minutes before Jehan speaks up hesitantly. “About last night…”

“Don’t apologize,” Courfeyrac says, turning to look at him. “I understand. We all have things we have to deal with.”

Jehan is staring at his hands clenched together on the table. “Not everybody has to deal with me and…well, that. I was weird last time, too, but I’m even worse now.”

“Jehan.” Courfeyrac puts the bowl down and goes to him, standing across the table and touching a hand to his chin, tilting it up until the other man reluctantly looks at him. “It’s all right. We’ll work through it, okay? You’ve come this far.”

Jehan gives a tiny nod. “I guess so. It’s not always so easy.”

“I bet not.” Courfeyrac strokes his cheek gently. “I’m going to finish making us breakfast, all right? Then while we eat, can I ask you some questions about it? Only if you’re comfortable. I just want to try and understand and make sure I don’t do anything to hurt you again.”

“That might be good,” Jehan agrees hesitantly.

“All right then. Food first.” Courfeyrac smiles at him, earning a tentative one in return, and goes back to preparing the food.

A short time later, they’re sitting across from each other, plates piled with pancakes drenched in butter and syrup. Courfeyrac gives Jehan a little time to eat, but soon his companion is looking at him questioningly, waiting for him to being.

“Okay. You’re sure it’s related to how you died, yeah?”

“Yeah.” There’s a little bit of reservation in his voice; he shifts in his chair.

“I’m not questioning you, just confirming,” Courfeyrac clarifies gently. “What did you think it was about before you remembered?”

Jehan shrugs. “It was just an anxiety thing, no real explanation. I saw a therapist for awhile, he said that happens.”

“Did he do anything to help you?”

“He tried. He tried to help me get to the bottom of what might have caused it, some traumatic event in my childhood or something, but I could never think of anything. Then I was on medication for a while, which helped a little, but I still couldn’t be alone for more than a little while at a time. And then after awhile it seemed to stop working, so I stopped taking it.”

“Did you ever go back?” Courfeyrac wants to know.

“No. I told my parents it didn’t help, so they stopped making me go. They just sort of leaned to deal with me.”

“I’m sure they didn’t mind, just like I don’t,” Courfeyrac assures him. “We love you, and we want you to be comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Jehan mumbles, taking a bite of his food to divert attention.

“Of course. Can I ask you some more or do you want to stop for now?”

“You can go ahead,” Jehan says, glancing up at him. “I really appreciate that you ask, though.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Courfeyrac says honestly. “Anything you don’t like, you don’t have to answer. Okay?”

Jehan nods, takes a drink, and gives him a gesture to go ahead and ask.

“If you can’t deal with being by yourself, how does that work?” Courfeyrac asks, searching for the words to convey what he wants to know. “Like, sometimes people need to be alone, right? When you sleep, or-or go to the bathroom, stuff like that?”

Jehan is staring at his hands again, face pink. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?” he mutters. “What kind of person is like this? Doesn’t matter how I died, it’s just-”

“Hey.” Courfeyrac takes his hand, wrapping their fingers together and stroking softly with his thumb. “You can’t control it, try not to think like that.”

Jehan closes his eyes for a moment, gathering himself. Courfeyrac squeezes his hand gently, and he opens them again. “It’s a little different if I know where someone is,” he explains carefully. “Like, I can go into the next room if I know the person I’m with isn’t going to move while I’m gone, and I go back within a few minutes.” He makes a face. “I don’t need someone in the bathroom with me.”

“I wasn’t inferring I wanted to,” Courfeyrac teases gently, and is relieved at Jehan’s tiny smile.

“And sleeping,” he goes on, “I always slept in the same room as my parents. I know that’s weird, but when they figured out it was the only way to stop me waking up and having panic attacks in the middle of the night, they went with it. Then when I came to the city and moved in with Grantaire, it was the same. We usually sleep in the same bed – just as friends,” he adds quickly, cheeks darkening again. “It helps both of us. Then when he wants to go somewhere, like Enjolras’s place or whatever, either Joly or Bossuet or both will come and spend the night with me. Everyone is so nice about it…” He trails off and after a moment looks up. “Anything else?”

“You must be glad the musical changed some of the details,” Courfeyrac murmurs. “I mean, that you get to be with the rest of us during that final scene.”

“It does make it a little easier,” Jehan says softly. “I don’t think I’d be able to relieve it eight times a week, the way it actually happened.”

“I’m glad you don’t have to.” Courfeyrac raises Jehan’s hand and presses his lips to it. “This doesn’t change anything,” he says resolutely. “I still love you just as much as I did then. You’re still you.”

“I love you, too,” Jehan whispers, emotion clear in his voice. “Thank you.”

Courfeyrac smiles at him, still holding his hand, and his heart aches. He meant every word that he said. Jehan has always meant so much to him, both then and now. Many would say that Jehan’s anxieties and insecurities make him less than an easy boyfriend to deal with, but Courfeyrac doesn’t care. He’ll gladly help guide him through his own mind when it means seeing the beautiful, loving, creative person Jehan is underneath. He gives his hand a final squeeze before standing to clear away the dishes.

“That’s enough seriousness for now,” he says lightly. “What should we do until rehearsal starts?"


End file.
